Chapter 59
Chapter 59
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Translator: penny
Chapter Title: Chapter 17 Forced Choice (4)
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Chirrup. Chirrup.
The cries of night insects filled the rear garden.
In an octagonal pavilion nestled within a meticulously tended garden, Nangong Il-joon waited.
"After this hour, let no one enter."
With a lavish spread of delicacies laid out before him, Nangong Il-joon gave strict instructions to the servants. Then he summoned Nangong Yong-ho.
"What was he doing?"
"Who knows. Just meditating, I guess."
"Meditating..."
Honestly, he felt a bit proud.
The boy who once couldn't even meet his eyes had learned to compose himself.
'It's a shame, but what can be done.'
If only he'd shown his talent sooner, it would have been better for everyone.
As he brushed aside his regrets, Nangong Yun-ho appeared on the path leading from the annex.
His frame was already growing imposing, like a small pillar in motion, and his aura was remarkably steady.
The mature sight left a bitter taste in his mouth for no reason.
"You're here."
He gestured to a seat on one side of the pavilion and broached the subject.
"Have you sorted out your feelings?"
"Not yet."
"You stubborn fool."
He grumbled, but Nangong Il-joon wasn't as angry as before.
It was a done deal anyway, and seeing the boy control his emotions had softened his ire considerably.
Still, he kept his tone sharp. Public and private matters had to be separated.
"Fine. It seems your instructor won't be coming."
"Who knows. He's lazy about everything, but he's not the type to skip out."
"Hmph. Must have gotten cold feet at a Nangong Family event."
"If he were that easy to read, I wouldn't have gone through all this trouble."
Listening to this sparked a sudden curiosity.
"You trust him quite a bit."
"There are times I can't trust myself, but I trust Instructor Chu."
"Tch. What could a Bronze Hall instructor from midday classes possibly know."
Nangong Il-joon simply couldn't comprehend it.
Bronze Hall was treated like a playground even among the Divine Martial Academy.
A rookie instructor there was obviously mediocre.
The Beggars' Sect recommendation was unusual, but that was it.
He couldn't fathom defying the family's will to defend such a person.
Not that it mattered anymore.
"He won't be coming."
"Is that so?"
"Probably met with an accident on the way. Or got lost."
Assuming it had sunk in, Nangong Il-joon pointed to the hourglass on one side of the courtyard.
"Only one dalgyeong left."
"Still a full dalgyeong remains."
It seemed convincing his nephew would take a bit more time.
This time, Nangong Yong-ho interjected.
"Brother. What's the point of waiting for this instructor? Think he'll give you some brilliant strategy?"
The Nangong Family had decided, so it would happen. Nangong Yong-ho, who firmly believed this simple, unerring principle, couldn't understand why his frustrating brother—willing to face their uncle's wrath—would bother with an instructor.
The answer came surprisingly straightforward.
"I don't need a strategy. He's no strategist to begin with."
"Then what do you want to ask him?"
"What I want to ask is..."
Nangong Yun-ho paused and glanced at the hourglass with a smile.
Nangong Il-joon, who had been watching the sand fall, tilted his head.
"Strange. Why isn't the sand falling?"
"You've arrived?"
"Yeah."
Turning toward the voice, Nangong Il-joon jumped in surprise.
A man stood there casually, arms crossed, uniform sloppily worn.
'When did he get here?'
He'd specifically ordered no one to be let in.
"Wow. Throwing a midnight feast? As expected of a fine house."
"The food is excellent. Why not join us?"
"If you insist."
Clomp clomp.
The guest sauntered in with utterly undisciplined steps, plopped down on one side without greeting, and grabbed meat with his hands, devouring it.
"Instructor Chu. How did you get in?"
"Dunno. The door was open?"
"Wasn't it hard to find?"
"Took some effort. Some emergency horn blared, and it was chaos out there."
The outside had been noisy earlier—lucky guy.
As Nangong Il-joon pondered this unexpected turn, Chu Un-hwi munched on meat and asked,
"Nom. Nom. Why'd you call me? Such a hassle."
"I have something to ask."
"Why? Just live moderately and die spectacularly. Nom nom."
"I've already decided how I'll die. What I want to ask is something else."
"What then?"
"How many forms ahead should I go?"
The hand grabbing meat froze.
Soon, beneath his shaggy hair, his lips split into a deathly grin.
"Heh heh heh. That what you were wondering? Should've said so. But why? Haven't figured it out?"
Watching the two chatter aimlessly, Nangong Yong-ho grew irritated.
Always the center of attention, he found this newcomer treating him like air utterly alienating.
"You must be Instructor Chu. I hear my brother owes you much. As for me, Nangong Yong-ho—what the world calls the Little Sword Dragon."
He cupped his fists in greeting.
But the response was as if he'd asked what the fool had eaten.
The rude guest soon whispered to his brother Nangong Yun-ho.
"That kid's speech is weird. Annoying. Three forms first."
"Three whole forms?"
"Guys with that mouth need a beating."
"Half a form ahead will do, then."
Neither the one dangling his foot while crossing his legs nor the brother faintly smiling and muttering pleased him.
When had he ever been treated this way?
His guts twisted at their pointing and snickering.
Nangong Il-joon bellowed sternly.
"Instructor Chu! What is this rudeness!"
His voice boomed with inner power.
Chu Un-hwi, rummaging through meat greedily, stiffened.
He flipped his palm to cover his mouth and whispered,
"Man. Big house is nice. If I'd yelled in my room, the neighbors would've banged on the walls by now."
"Noise between floors is bad enough."
"For me, floors aren't the issue—it's the walls with holes."
Was he not hearing them?
As Nangong Il-joon swallowed his rage, turning red then pale, Chu Un-hwi—who'd ignored him moments ago—picked up a liquor bottle.
"Haha. Fate to meet again like this. Have a drink."
"Not in the mood for liquor. You first..."
"No gifts from the Nangong Family?"
"What? Gifts?"
"The Jegal Family, Baek Family, Moyong Family—all handed over nicely."
'Stingy.'
At the blatant hand outstretched, Nangong Il-joon was dumbfounded.
'Wait. Come to think of it.'
He recalled.
'The Baek Family kid and Moyong Family kid were close to him.'
Suddenly, he felt a pang of guilt.
Only the Nangong Family had slighted him?
With the matter Yeom Gwang was handling unclear, he couldn't afford to be called stingy.
"Ahem. We'll take care of it properly."
"The others were all yellow gold. Not thinking of wiping your mouth with weak silver, right?"
This corrupt instructor.
Frowning, Nangong Il-joon spat out each word deliberately.
"I. Will. Take. Good. Care. Of. It."
"Much obliged. Made some money. But ending it here feels boring."
What nonsense now?
Tense, he watched as Chu Un-hwi formed a circle with thumb and forefinger and grinned.
"Wanna bet with me?"
***
"Ha. Unbelievable."
Nangong Yong-ho couldn't keep up with the sudden development.
"Sparring with you, brother."
"......"
Unlike his endlessly grumbling brother, Nangong Yun-ho neatly removed his outer robe and warmed up.
His reverent preparation left Nangong Yong-ho incredulous.
"Brother. You really planning to go at it?"
"No reason not to."
"Man. Seriously."
It bruised his pride.
Nangong Yong-ho knew his talent was ample.
He prided himself that even in Silver Hall, no one matched him—yet sparring with his brother, the family laughingstock? The obvious win was one thing, but this could cause real injury.
Wounds heal, but he didn't want to hurt his brother's feelings too.
"Fine. Fine. Sorry for doubting your seriousness. I get it now, so let's stop."
Shing.
Despite his maximum concession, Nangong Yun-ho drew his sword, and Nangong Yong-ho's expression cooled.
"I'm yielding this much—still going through with it?"
Looking at his sullen brother, the stoic Nangong Yun-ho lowered his sword.
In response, Nangong Yong-ho drew his like lightning.
"Really."
Boom.
With a puff of dust, Nangong Yong-ho's form surged forward swiftly.
***
"A spar, of all things. Is there need to stir up trouble?"
Nangong Il-joon asked, watching the standoff.
Nom nom.
His brow furrowed at Chu Un-hwi still gorging himself.
"No need to make him experience an uncrossable gap."
Surprisingly, Nangong Il-joon's expression was bright. The absurd demand was laughable, but perfect for forcing acceptance.
What bothered him was Chu Un-hwi's demeanor.
Nom. Nom.
Gulping down tenderloin and chugging liquor, he was beyond relaxed—utterly nonchalant.
"I won't forget this."
"Heh heh, no choice—you can't."
Clang.
A sharp sword cry rang out, and Nangong Il-joon clicked his tongue.
"Can't even block the power in the sword—staggering already."
"His inner power is shallow."
"Naturally. He's trained diligently, but can't compare to Yong-ho, who's mastered the Ascending Heart Method and taken elixirs."
Clang! Clang clang!
Ten exchanges flew by in an instant.
At the unexpected resistance, Nangong Il-joon reconsidered.
'Holding out ten forms? He's really honed his inner power.'
Not even using Ascending Swordsmanship or Heart Method—enduring ten forms was impressive.
'Well, Yong-ho might be holding back...'
Clang! Clang clang!
But as thirty passed, then fifty, Nangong Il-joon's jaw dropped.
"Th-that... that."
Nangong Yun-ho, scrambling to block, began straightening his waist.
His footwork, pushed back steadily, stabilized, and above all, his sword speed quickened.
At the start, barely defending—now striking first.
The change was so swift, it resembled a concealed master revealing his skill.
Astoundingly, it didn't stop.
Claaang!
"Kuh!"
Before he could raise his sword fully, the precise strike followed.
Clang! Claaang!
Before forms could manifest, Nangong Yong-ho's rhythm broke.
It pointed to one thing.
"Yong-ho's moves are all read?"
No, more than that.
"Predicting and cutting off the next forms too!"
An unbelievable sight.
And now he noticed: the sword tip vibrating ceaselessly amid slashes and thrusts.
Shaking without rest, ready for any direction—like the Nangong Family's secret art, Emperor Sword Form.
"Gulp."
The Ghost of Bronze Hall, they called him.
'Have you returned as a sword ghost?'
Nangong Il-joon's pupils trembled like an earthquake as he watched the spar.